I think I’ve been warming up to this
Enough months to equal years but I
Don’t want to mislead you.
I’m young, I haven’t lost much
Nor much have I won. Months gives the
More accurate impression, though I
Suppose that is one of the points
Of poetry; you draw from it what
You will. But honestly I never
Thought of these as poems, every
One is more like a pill. I ingest more
Than most; I’m probably my biggest
Reader. Surely my biggest
Critic. No truer or more confusing
Path is laid than by each of
These bricks; a path forged
And wandered all the same.
Hours spent re-reading what
I write, searching for an answer between
The lines to the question of my
I’m closer than ever to
Realizing that I’ll never be
Close, and accepting the fact
That acceptance is the one
True shield I have. And the click
Won’t be sharp, but more a
Drawn out tone, much as a
Wolf’s call when the pack has
Lost one of its own.
A paradox. A destination embodying
Everlasting motion and growth.
Ever casting a net; true they taught
Me to fish but I never learned how
To properly prepare the dish-
The lack of forks coupled with
Raw flesh makes for quite the
I’m realizing the pinnacle of this
Existence is merely the mean.
Greatest becomes average,
Gentleman turns savage
In the shadows of All.
How fitting a season
For this beautiful Fall.